


Would You Carry Me to the End?

by MizErie



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Domestic Violence, Emotional Abuse, Frerard, M/M, POV Alternating, sodomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:31:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizErie/pseuds/MizErie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>No. Not again. It still hurts to breathe from where I’m pretty sure he cracked some ribs just a few days ago.</em> I lean as heavily against the door as my battered body will let me.</p><p>“DAMMIT, FRANK!” he slurs as he pounds relentlessly on my bedroom door. “If I gotta break this damn door down again, so help you God, I’ll give it to you three times as bad!”</p><p>I know he’s telling the truth, but I just can’t do it; I can’t let him in to beat me black and bloody again tonight. The old wounds still haven’t healed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Would You Carry Me to the End?

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This is NOT a happy, feel-good fic! If you don't like a subject in the tags, don't read this! I don't want any flaming comments! This is NOT a fic for young readers; if you are not of age to be reading materials rated "explicit" then FUCK OFF! 
> 
> Don't say you didn't know what was coming! I gave you fair warning!
> 
> A special THANKS to Yekith for prereading this fic and for giving me her honest opinions on each section one at a time, even though this is not her favorite type of fic! You're amazing, Yekith!!

_No. Not again. It still hurts to breathe from where I’m pretty sure he cracked some ribs just a few days ago._ I lean as heavily against the door as my battered body will let me.

“DAMMIT, FRANK!” he slurs as he pounds relentlessly on my bedroom door. “If I gotta break this damn door down again, so help you God, I’ll give it to you three times as bad!”

I know he’s telling the truth, but I just can’t do it; I can’t let him in to beat me black and bloody again tonight. The old wounds still haven’t healed.

“Please, Gerard,” I whimper, my voice sounding broken and defeated to my own ears. I shouldn’t have said anything. He knows he has me now; he knows, even through his alcohol and drug fueled rage, I can’t defend myself tonight.

“Fine, Frankie, have it your way,” his voice fading as he goes down the hall. _SHIT! SHIT!_ I know I should hide, but there’s no place that he can’t find me in our own house. My subconscious doesn’t care; my body huddles down into the corner of the closet with or without my permission, trembling so hard I swear I can hear my bones rattling against each other.

BAM! I jump at the impact of something heavy hitting my bedroom door. BAM! Again. This time, he doesn’t hit the door again, but instead swings it open so hard he leaves a hole in the wall from the doorknob. _PLEASE, someone make it stop now._

Only a few seconds pass, but it could have been hours for all I know. He swings whatever he has in his hands at the closet door. BAM! I startle while trying to brace myself for what’s about to come. I _know_ it’s coming; I can’t escape my fate now. BAM! This hit breaks through the hollow door. _Jesus Christ, he has a metal baseball bat!_ He pulls the bat out of the hole now in the door and then slams it into the door once more, making the hole even bigger.

The sadistic tone of his voice makes my stomach heave, “There you are, Frankie.” He grabs a handful of my hair and drags me out of the closet. I wrap my fingers around his hand in my hair, a hand that used to touch me lovingly, while the other hand grips the ball bat so tight I fear his grip will bend it.

I land harshly against the bed on my side with the cracked ribs.  Before I come to a complete rest, I feel a sharp pain explode in my chest. He hit me with the silver bat.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

 _Weak. He’s just weak._ I raise the bat once again and then bring it down as hard as I can muster across his chest. That’s what he gets for being here. I can feel that satisfaction warming me with every whimper and scream from him. I swing the bat once more.

He struggles to draw in a breath. I allow the bat to hang at my side, pulling his curled up form off the bed.

“What have I told you, huh, Frank?” I don’t care that my hits knocked the wind out of him; he is supposed to answer me when I ask him something! I jerk his head back farther so he can see my eyes. “Have I not told you that you were mine and mine alone?” I seethe.

“Y-yes,” he stutters like the coward he is.

I saw him; I saw the way he looked at the mailman earlier today. But I can’t do anything to the mail carrier; no, I can only train Frank to behave. Frank coughs, a small amount of red stained spit trickling out the corner of his mouth. _Oh, you’ll be doing more bleeding than that before this night is over, dear Frankie!_

I drop him on the bed again, propping my specially chosen weapon for this evening against his legs dangling limply over the side of the bed. I need a smoke. I light one up, watching the terror spread over his face through the flame of the plastic lighter. _Let him writhe in fear a few minutes._

“Take your clothes off,” I demand. I plop down in the chair next to his nightstand. God, he takes all my energy to keep in line.

“P-please, not t-toni—” he starts to plead. _Oh, you’ll pay for hesitating to do what I said, Frankie._

“NOW, GODDAMMIT! Don’t make me tell you twice!” He stands shakily from the bed. I love to see the pain shoot across his features as he removes his clothing; it reminds him who’s in charge here. “Now come here,” I instruct him after he has removed all his clothing. He obeys. _Good boy._ “Hold out your arm.” Again he obeys, albeit a little slow for my liking. “Why did you hesitate, Frankie? Why didn’t you remove your clothes the first time I asked you to?”

“I p-promise, I won’t d-do it again, whatever it was I-I did. Just p-please don’t hurt me anym-more tonight,” he sobs.

“I know you won’t, Frankie. You know how I know?” I ask as I stand up from the chair, looking him in the eyes. Fear ripples across his brownish-green irises. _That’s right! I’m in charge here._ He shakes his head no. I push the tip of my smoldering cigarette into the soft inside of his wrist. He hisses, but otherwise doesn’t make a sound. _That’s just not gonna do._

I slap him hard across the face with the back of my hand. He tumbles backwards onto the bed, hands reaching for his reddening face. _Perfect._ Without warning, I twist the tip of my cigarette in his scrotum. This time he screams out like he is supposed to do.

“Because I can hurt you, Frankie. That’s how I know you won’t do it again!” I toss the butt of the smothered smoke onto the nightstand. There’s no point in relighting it; it was almost gone anyway.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

I try not to think about pain in my balls right now, only my reply, “I kn-know.”

“You remember that,” he snarls. I do remember, with every painful breath I take, with every new and fading bruise on my skin, with every sink of panic in my gut. But I remember more than that. I remember when he used to not drink or do those damn drugs, when he actually loved me, or at least said he did. I remember when those eyes looked at me softly, when those hands caressed me gently, when feeling his body heat so close to me didn’t make my guts churn with fear.

“Did you hear me, Frankie?” _Oh, shit! I wasn’t listening._ All I can do is look at him. Whether I admit I wasn’t or just don’t reply, it’s all going to end the same way. Before I can take another breath, I am flying through the air and crashing into the wall adjacent to the side of my bed, once again taking my breath away. My falling body pushes the bed away from the wall. _No! Please don’t find them!_

He walks around to the foot of the bed, dragging me up above the mattress. He begins to walk back towards the center of the room again. _Am I really this lucky?_ Suddenly he stops, dropping me on the floor where he stands, and pushes the bed further away from the wall. _NO! NO, NO, NO!_

He leans over below the bed, and I hear glass clinking. He found them. My one and only small luxury, and he found them. Coke in a glass bottle, just like my grandpa used to buy me as a kid. At least I have drunk them all already. All that’s left are empty bottles. But he calls them a waste of money, _his_ money.

He steps back around the bed. I dare not look at him; all I can do is stare at the floor under me. I flinch as I hear one of the bottles shatter against the floor beside me.

In what I can only describe as complete control of himself, he squats down and pulls my face up to meet his. “What’s this?” he asks evenly, pointing to the broken glass on the floor. He picks a piece of it up, carefully testing the sharp edge.

“A broken C-coke bottle.” We both know he has me again. There’s only one way I got them.

“Where did they come from? How did you pay for them?” Again, his voice is just as calm and steady as before.

“I-I…” _Oh, God! I’m not going to live through the night!_

“You what, Frankie?”

All I can do is whisper, “I t-took five d-dollars while you were sleeping. I s-snuck out the next day and b-bought them at the convenience store.”

He carefully lifts my arm into his lap, softly brushing his empty hand over it. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was concerned about the burn he had just left on my arm. But I know better.

“Why would you do that, Frankie?” I’d rather hear rage in his voice than this soft, even tone.

“I-it was my b-birthday,” I state, but it comes out more as a question.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

 _His birthday. No one gives a FUCK about his birthday._ I quickly grasp his arm tightly and run the sharp edge of the glass down his flesh. Small rivulets of crimson start running down onto my lap. He whimpers, but it’s one whimper to many right now!

I pounce on top of his naked form, knocking him onto his back, and start drawing quick, crisscrossed lines with the sharp piece of his forbidden item on the pale skin covering his chest and stomach. “WHY WOULD YOU STEAL FROM ME? HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU NOT TO LEAVE THE HOUSE?” I scream at him, continuing to draw back and forth lines of blood in his skin. He tries to push me off of him, but I’m bigger than he is. _No, let him up! Let’s see how much he loves his precious Coke in a glass bottle!_

I smirk. This is too brilliant. I discard the crimson rimmed glass shard onto the floor and drag his sorry ass over to the bed, throwing him down on his bleeding stomach.

“You want your precious Coke? You like the damn glass bottles?” He tries to push up off the bed, but I force him back down with my body weight reaching over him to grab an intact bottle. I spread his ass cheeks and spit on his asshole. “HERE! HAVE YOUR DAMN GLASS BOTTLES!” I scream as I ram the bottle into his ass. His whole body tenses in what I can only hope is pain. _Maybe now he won’t want the damn things no more!_

“P-please! D-don’t!” he cries out. I lay my body skewed across his so that I can whisper into his ear while still holding the Coke bottle.

I harshly thrust the thing in and out of him as I whisper, “No, no, Frank. You wanted it so badly that you stole from me and then broke my rules.” I push it hard against his body, forcing the wider part of it into him. His cries turn into hiccupy sobs. “Now, you can have it. I’m giving you what you wanted.” His body goes rigid once again. “Happy birthday, Frankie.”

He coughs hard, coughing up bright red on the sheets under him. As much as I am enjoying this little round of torture, I know I have to get off of him as to not cause more harm. If he’s coughing up blood, that means his lungs are damaged. _I am NOT paying a hospital bill for him._

I climb off of his body, withdrawing the bottle from his ass. But this is far from over. I jerk him over onto his back and push the glass bottle into his hand.

“Do it to yourself while I get undressed.” That little bit of fear glints in his eyes again. Or maybe that is just tears. But he heeds my command, gingerly pressing the Coke bottle back inside of himself. I pull my shirt off over my head. “Like you mean it, Frank!”

He barely increases his speed, but I’m about to fix his problem anyway. I quickly lose the rest of my clothes.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

He jerks to bottle out of my ass and away from me so fast it hurts. That’s the least of my concerns now. We have finally gotten to the heart of why he came to my room tonight. _Maybe I should have just opened the door; this could have all been over with by now._ I try to close my legs. I don’t want him between them tonight. He grabs my thighs and forces them back open with so much force, I’ll have indigo handprints on my legs tomorrow.

“N-no, I d-don’t want to. P-please don’t rape m-me again.”

He freezes at the word rape, his breath hitching. _Wrong thing to say, Frankie._ He gets right up in my face, his naked body pressed so closely to mine.

“Don’t you ever…” his tone extremely ominous, “…EVER use that word in this house again. I support you, I pay your bills. All you have to do is pleasure me. You used to beg me to fuck you, Frankie. You asked for this!’’

Without any additional lube, he forcefully pushes his throbbing dick inside of me. It takes every ounce of will I have left to not scream out. I try to let my mind wonder back to the time when I enjoyed having him inside of me, when I _did_ ask for this. But it’s to no avail. I don’t want him between my legs; I don’t want him inside of me anymore. _I don’t want HIM anymore!_

“C’mon, Frankie, moan for me,” he gasps. “Show me how much you like this.” I try to do as he asks, I try to allow some contented noise to escape my body, but it comes out as a groan. He stops thrusting in and out of me, grabbing my jaw in his hand so harshly that it hurts. I really don’t want my jaw dislocated again.

“That wasn’t what I asked for,” he scorns. His kisses my lips as if I had asked him to do so. “What’s wrong, Baby?” If this weren’t such a twisted game he was playing right now…

“I d-don’t want…”

“You don’t want what, Frankie?” His voice is cold and menacing.

“I don’t want to do this!” I force out. The next thing I know, his fist connects like a brick at terminal velocity on the side of my head. I see my vision beginning to fade. _Finally. I might be hurting when I wake up, but at least I don’t have to live through anymore tonight!_ Quickly I drift off into unconsciousness.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

Damn him, making me hit him like that. Now he won’t make _any_ noises for me. I look down his near lifeless body. I see all the markings I have left on him, markings to indicate he belongs to me! Cuts, bruises, burns, handprints, scars from old wounds… each one a little label of my name. Each one tells him who he belongs to. I am pleased.

I run my hand over his collarbone and around his neck. I have so much control now. If I wanted to I could squeeze his thin neck until he breathed no longer, and he wouldn’t even fight me right now. It’d all be so peaceful for him. _But I wouldn’t dare do that to my own possession._ I unwrap my fingers from around his neck.

I take each of his limp hands in mine, placing them high above his head, drawing our bodies so much closer together. I lick a little of his blood off his chest from a cut that’s still oozing a little. _Mmm, metallic…_

I start moving my hips again. God, he’s not as tight when he’s not awake, not clinching his muscles so hard. I put my cheek to his, continuing to draw myself in and out of him. I can hear his raspy, wheezy breathing steadily going in and out of him. I nudge his limp legs further apart with my own thighs. _Much better!_ I bury myself as deeply inside of him as I can. I’m unable to stop a guttural moan from slipping past my lips.

“God, Frankie! It’s too bad you couldn’t be awake to feel how good this feels,” I whisper in his ear.

“FREEZE!” A male voice from behind me interrupts my special moment with him. _How DARE you!_ I put on my best evil smirk and turn to face the direction the voice came from.

A simpleton cop stands in his doorway, the cop’s sidearm trained directly at my chest. The cop takes a couple of steps towards us. “Get off of him,” the cop orders.

“He’s mine,” I seethe, covering him with my body to protect my valuable creation.

“Sir, I will not repeat myself but one more time: Get. Off. Of him.” I am just about done with him for tonight. I climb off of him, grabbing my jeans from the floor and throwing them back on. I can finish what I started later on.

The cop steps over to him, looking down at him, a panicked look crossing the cop's face. _That’s right, this is MY house!_ “Dispatch, I’m gonna need EMS at this location,” the cop calls into his radio. No! My house, my rules. He’s not going anywhere; he doesn’t leave this house for ANY reason!

“He belongs to me,” I harshly inform the cop again.

Another cop enters his room, the second cop’s weapon drawn. The first cop takes a step towards me, the firearm in the cop’s hands still aimed directly at me. _Shoot me, Motherfucker! I’d like to see you try!_ “Sir, I’m only going to ask you this once: put your hands on the back of your head and turn around slowly.”

“Fuck you,” I spit at him. I step forwards to protect him from these cops trying to take him away. I only make it two steps. A sharp volt fills my body, rendering my muscles useless. As I land on the floor, a whole swarm of cops converge on me, pinning me to the floor and clicking cold handcuffs around my wrists.

I struggle to regain some control of my body so I can fight these damn cops. The group picks me completely up off the floor so that not one part of my body is touching it. He’s still peacefully asleep in his bed, looking like my perfectly broken boy that he is. His body is still positioned the way I left him, in a way that invites me back to him, back _into_ him.

I struggle against the restraints to get back to him.

“HE’S MINE!” I scream out as they drag my writhing body out of the room.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

I awake, but don’t open my eyes yet. Something is wrong; I feel nothing, no pain, just a soft bed under me. I must be dead. I crack my eyes. The light hurts my head, but I look around. I’m in a hospital bed. _He’s never brought me to a hospital before._ There are cops in my room, but I don’t feel safe.If anything, the cops make me more terrified. I will pay for this somehow; he will find a way to make this my fault.

One of the cops sees my eyes open before I can close them back. “Son?” I act like I didn’t hear him. He places his hand on my arm; his touch is warm and comforting. “Son, you’re safe now. Will you talk to me?”

I shake my head no. I’m not taking any chances. If _he_ finds out I talked to cops, he might actually kill me.

“Go get a nurse,” the cop directs another one. The directed one walks out of the room. The one I assume is in charge turns his gaze back to me. “Can you at least tell me your name?” I just look at him warily.

“W-where’s Gerard?” That’s my only concern right now.

“I promise you, he’s not ever going to hurt you again.” _He’s dead? When… I mean, how_ _—_ “We have him in custody. He wasn’t given bail.” I let out a small sigh of relief. For both the fact I might actually get to heal some before my next attack and for the small possibility there might actually not be a next attack.

“Son, what’s your name?” _Can I trust you? Can you really protect me?_ Thankfully the nurse comes in and interrupts this little interrogation. The cop walks over and addresses her. He tries to whisper, but I hear him all the same; I’m trained to hear whispers by now. “Can you give him something to make him a little more comfortable?”

“I’m not in pain right now,” I mumble. The cop looks at me over his shoulder and then whispers something I can’t hear to the nurse. She nods and walks out of the room. The cop just takes a seat in a chair across the way from my bed.

The nurse comes back in a short time later, carrying a syringe filled with a clear liquid in her hand. “This will help with your nerves,” she says as she attaches the syringe to my IV line and pushes down the plunger. _Fuck my nerves! Give me something for my terror!_ The cop just nods to the nurse as she exits the room.

Quickly enough, I do start to feel somewhat more relieved. After only another minute or two, the cop walks back over to the side of my bed.

“How long have you been in that house, cut off from society, son?” Even with the drugs he asked for, I still fear Gerard; I’m still not answering his questions. He looks at me hard then sighs softly. “One of your neighbors heard you screaming from their yard. They called us. They said it’s not the first time they’ve heard your screams. You’re lucky, son. He very well might have killed you last night.”

“It’s always that bad! He’s never killed me before!” I clasp my hands over my mouth. _SHIT!!_ He goaded me into that one.

“Just tell me your name, son. That’s all I want to know right now.”

“Frank,” I whisper.

“Do you have a last name, Frank?”

“Just Frank.”

He places his comforting hand on my arm again. It almost makes me feel safe. Almost. “Okay, Frank. When you’re ready to talk, or if you have any questions, I’ma be right outside that door.” He turns to walk out.

“When…” He stops and turn back to face me.

“When what, Frank?”

“When will Gerard be back?”

“He’s not coming back. Not for a long time.”

Tears run down my cheeks, although I’m not sure if they are from sadness or joy.


End file.
